


Lord of the Flies

by Hambone



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Beating, Bugs & Insects, Cruelty, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, M/M, Maggots, Multi, Nipple Torture, Sexual Torture, beastiality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 04:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18438728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: Alfred, imprisoned in a Cainhurst dungeon cell, is toyed with.





	Lord of the Flies

**Author's Note:**

> I mentioned porn of/with the maggots at Cainhurst and then I realized since I said it it had to be done. Damn.   
> The maggots themselves aren't directly doing the fucking per se but they are sure as hell involved in it. 
> 
> This isn't edited AT ALL I'm sorry but still: Enjoy!

    Several pairs of feet clamored down the hallway. Alfred recognized both the hurried scamper of the servants, twisted and shrunken by generations of inbreeding and forced labor, and the long and confidant strides of a noble. Even when they reached the bars of his cell he did not bother moving to meet them, because there would be no point to it as he was now, and he did not care to give anyone the satisfaction of beating him down again. His ribs were likely broken – he knew this because beneath the deep black bruising his side looked strange, and breathing cut like a knife to his lung. His right eye was also nearly blind, swollen shut, and his hands were crippled by layers of sores. He was too tired to fight, not right now. But he had not given up.

    His cell was unlocked and three servants came in, two working together to carry a large metal bucket, followed by a well-dressed knight. At his request they placed it down and retreated to wait outside the door, which they shut but did not lock, after the knight had come to a stop in the middle of the cell. He looked at Alfred with a disgusting smile. Alfred, curled and naked in the corner, glared at him.

    “How are we feeling today, filth?”

    Alfred said nothing, remaining hunched tight over his knees. Though the dungeon was carved deep in the bedrock below Castle Cainhurst, it was still as penetratingly cold as the snowy hills above. His own breath puffed before his face, cracking the corners of his mouth dry. His nose was too clogged with blood to breathe after it had been broken a few days before. There was no consistent light here, but the hours within which he was most often visited seemed to come regularly. He would learn them well enough soon to use this to his advantage, he was sure. No breath plumed about the face if the knight, as it did with no true noble of Cainhurst. Such creatures had no need for it.

    The knight paced closer, opening his hands in a placating gesture as if he meant it.

    “Oh, don’t be shy now! Speak your mind.”

    Again he said nothing. His eyes flickered over to the bucket where it sat a few feet away, innocuous but for the water that dripped from its mouth and the way it trembled every so often. Live animals, fish most likely. Every visit to his cell was another turn in the game they played with him, and he suspected that now they would attempt to shame him by offering him only live and raw sustenance, perhaps filthy. It was almost humorous that they believed this would break his spirit. He’d been alone for a long time. He had eaten worse.

    “Can you not spare a few words for your noble lord, or have you already grown too dumb?”

    Alfred looked back at him and finally spoke.

    “I see no one of such description here.”

    The knight threw back his head and laughed heartily. He wore a red brooch on his neck, and it glimmered in the low light of candles like an open wound. Alfred wondered if it were ruby or coldblood.

    “Indeed, you are as spirited as you were the night you were brought here. What sport!”

    Then he reared back and delivered a kick to Alfred’s shoulder that broke him from his form, splaying his back to the wall as he attempted to react. All too quickly the knight hit him again, this time in his fractured chest, and Alfred howled in pain.

    “You know, they’d told me you were a good bit of fun.”

    Alfred fell forwards onto his hands and the knight grabbed his hair in a rich handful, dragging him out from his safe corner. He could only scrabble at the stones and gasp. He couldn’t breathe, his lungs ached.

    “I don’t expect I’ll bring you to heel tonight, but, really, that wouldn’t be my place.”

    He placed the sole of his boot against Alfred’s thigh and pushed him onto his side easily. He was coming back to himself and he reached out towards the knight’s leg, but his wrists were still shackled to one another with only a few inches of chain to separate them and it made the action slow and awkward.

    “Rot in hell!”

    The knight laughed again. He undid the front of his pants and knelt down over Alfred, who lashed out at him, feral. He caught a good blow to the knight’s chest, knocking him back a bit, but compared to the man he was at full strength it was pathetic, and he regained his balance easily.

    “Yes, yes, struggle all you like. It will come back to you tenfold.”

    He did not care. The knight reached for him again and Alfred rolled onto his back, grunting as gravel scraped old wounds, the bite of the lash still hot in his memory, and he kicked out. His legs were not restrained by anything and this time his attack struck the knight on the shoulder with a good hard crack. This was the point where the true nature of the thing began to show. When the knight looked back at him his eyes had grown deep and dark and bloody, and his smile exposed more teeth.

    “There, vile beast, there you are!”

    Alfred laughed madly, even when his next kick was intercepted, and his ankle caught between punishing fingers.

    “Let me see your true and hideous face!”

    The knight did not look angry, but his touch made the bones in Alfred’s leg creak.

    “So be it.”

    He yanked Alfred’s legs apart and surged between them, grabbing Alfred by the throat with both hands and squeezing. His head fell back and hit the floor with a loud thump, enough to jar his vision white momentarily, and he laughed until he couldn’t draw air anymore and his temples felt tight and painful. Here he was, trapped and broken, without even the clothes on his back anymore, and he could still draw a rise from these wretched creatures. This was his power, for even if he could not kill them like this, he could suck the enjoyment from their tortures, make their beatings a chore. He laughed in his heart, and he would die laughing, and they would never win.

    The pressure was relieved slightly as one hand fell between them to release the knight’s cock from his trousers. He was hard already, of course, probably had been the moment he’d smelled the dried blood on the bars of his cage. As Alfred continued to scratch and beat upon his arms, he thrust his dick between them, and while the weight of his heavy clothing brought some shelter from the frigid air his skin was still cold, even where his erection bobbed, cold like a corpse. When he’d released himself the knight grabbed at Alfred’s own prick, soft and uninterested, and squeezed it until tears leaked from the corners of Alfred’s eyes and he gasped in small painful squeaks of broken air.

    “Is this what you wanted, whore of the church? Is this what you drive all of us to do to you?”

    He only released him when Alfred began to pass out, the pressure on his neck and on his cock combining and blackening in his brain. When he could no longer strike back, the knight pulled away enough to sit upright and grabbed Alfred’s legs, pulling them to rest on his shoulders. His muscles were sore and stiff and when he pushed Alfred back it made his ribs rub one another and he would have screamed if he could. With fumbling hands the knight guided his cock between Alfred’s chubby thighs, giving their meat a good slap, and frotted himself against them.

    “You are made for this, aren’t you?” he said, “Aren’t you?”

    Alfred stared blearily at the ceiling and took it, because at least this did not hurt, and he had a moment to draw air back into his chest, even as his ribcage closed around him like blades. With his teeth the knight tore his glove away from one hand, and dunked his fingers into the bucket. Alfred was aware of none of this, but he was certainly aware when his legs were spread again and those same wetted digits crammed inside his hole. He tried to arch away but the knight held him tightly and the way his legs were crammed against his body left him with little freedom.

    The fingers were rough and prodding, and Alfred knew they were only softening and slicking him enough to let the knight’s cock slide in undamaged. He’d experienced it enough, here. As cold as the rest of him, they pulled him apart, spreading and flexing too quickly, too hard. Feeling was beginning to return to his hands but they were pinned by his own knees to his chest and all he could do was clench his fists ineffectually and try to focus on the pain of his nails breaking the skin of his palms over the pain of his ass being spread open. The shame only brushed him now, no longer shaking him to his core. He’d learned quickly that this was just another form of violence to the Vileblood.

    Too quickly the knight decided he’d done his part, and too quickly Alfred felt the head of his cock pushing bluntly inside. He grit his teeth and shut his eyes and held back the cry that rattled in his throat. The knight pushed him back more and more as he entered until he bottomed out and Alfred was folded in half on his back, nearly bearing his own legs upon his shoulders. He didn’t want to see the face hovering above his, those red, deadened eyes peeling away everything he had left. When he started thrusting Alfred could not hold back his scream, and he reached between them as best he could, grappling at the knight’s coat.

    “That’s right, let go of yourself.”

    He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t think to stop himself. He’d been bruised and battered this way so many times before and yet it still cut him anew. Every thrust was like a blow to his gut, tearing the life from his heart. He tried to close his mouth to hold back his voice but he still could not breathe through his crooked nose and spittle bubbled out over his broken lips. The knight swung his hips down easily, mounting him like a dog on a bitch, and Alfred felt the little eyes of the servants watching, and perhaps they were pleasured by his suffering as well, and perhaps they wanted to thusly ruin him as well. The knight still wore his rich clothing and the folds and chains and baubles on it all rustled and jangled together, deafening from where he lay, just like the loud slap of his bare bottom meeting the knight’s leather trousers echoing through the empty corridors.

    The only solace he had was that it was over quickly. Just when he was sure he would die, for even his screams did not free the pain from inside him, the knight pushed his hips down hard and came. His cock pulsed inside and Alfred sobbed in miserable relief, even as he was ground into still, because he had survived it again, and he had been so sure he wouldn’t. He was sure he looked deplorable, blubbering and bloody, but he was alive, and that was victory.

    When the knight pulled out and left him he collapsed flat on the floor, gasping. It burned but he was free, in some way, and he breathed it in deeply. Even when he heard the tin of the bucket rustle, he did not open his eyes, for they were sewn shut with tears and he was so tired.

    “Oh, I’ve not finished with you yet.”

    He did look up then, because the words were punctuated with a long and unhealthy sounding gush of fluid, and he finally saw what was inside the bucket. Pinching directly behind its head so it could not bite the hand that held it, the knight withdrew a hateful maggot, squirming and wet. Alfred felt himself grow as cold as the cell, and he tried to sit up, but couldn’t quite.

    “What,” he croaked, but his throat burned. These were creatures he knew from the depths of the Tombs, and the poisoned lakes and swamps in the woodlands. Compared to the swift and agile beasts they seemed a small worry but any Hunter worth his salt knew better. The knight saw his budding panic and grinned.

    “Ah, so you are at least smart enough to know what I hold.”

    Alfred gripped the stone beneath him and tried to pull back.

    “Hell,” he snarled hoarsely, “you monsters-!”

    With a flick of the knight’s wrist the servants came running. As he was now Alfred could hardly resist as the three of them wrestled with his arms, pushing him into a sitting position that made his hips burst with pain. Alfred tried to knock them away with his shoulder at the very least but he was restrained, already cowed by pain. The knight knelt before him, holding the wriggling thing, and cocked his head.

    “I’ve heard you enjoy the touch of beasts.”

    That was not true, but Alfred had no way to defend himself from the accusation. They at Cainhurst had used him in such a way before, after all, wanting to ensure there was no manner of filth untried to sully his soul. Were he not already weeping he might have begun simply from the memory of it, but he steeled his eyes to a glare and met the knight’s.

    “Oh, not the silent treatment again, not when your body speaks so truthfully in your stead.”

    He reached down and took Alfred’s cock into his hand again, gently now. Alfred looked down and saw that he was indeed half hard from what had been done to him, but saw his bobbing sex as a stranger’s in the knight’s palm. He could barely feel the pleasure his mild stroking produced, not when every other part of his self was sick with the wrongness of it. Flesh was a weak and horrible thing at times. His Master had always told him not to fear its frailty, as long as his spirit remained untwisted. Was it still?

    “And such a perfectly dirty body it is, really.”

    That same hand trailed up Alfred’s quivering belly, pinching his fat and feeling the solid muscle beneath. When it reached his chest the knight cupped one of his heavy pectorals like a breast.

    “Perhaps that is why someone as weak as you was permitted stay within your pathetic little Executioner club, hm? For this lewd form of yours?”

    Alfred’s lips quivered, for he wanted to say something, but he knew it was pointless. He was not weak. No one had ever propositioned him there, none of his brothers or sisters so much as casting a fowl eye upon him. They were good people, strong people, people who loved and cared for him as a boy, a young man, people as pure and good as the tutelage of his radiant Master could make them. The knight rubbed the pad of his thumb over Alfred’s nipple and chuffed as it pebbled in the cold.

    “Most certainly.”

    Still holding the maggot far too close, the knight tugged at his nipple again, pinching until Alfred had to turn his head away because of the way the skin grew tender and pink. Everything within and without ached and yet his chest had always been a weak spot and soon the confused little tingles of pleasure became prominent and hazy against his heartbeat. When he was satisfied with the condition of that bud he moved to the second, plucking it to hardness easily and with great glee.

    “Now, I’m sure you know well what poison these worms carry,” the knight said, twisting Alfred’s breast so hard a high noise rose in him, “but you needn’t worry. These have been milked clean for other use already, and now are dispensable.”

    He didn’t care, he just wanted to be left to his suffering once more. Jism was beginning to leak out his backside and he knew the servants could see it.

    “Indeed, one could bite you fully with very little consequence but for,” he grinned, “the pinch.”

    With that he brought the maggot close and its pincers closed around Alfred’s unattended nipple. He yelped, shocked, because the snap of its vice hurt amazingly and the sensitivity of his recently fondled teat made it more so. The maggot held him tightly even as he writhed back away from it into the servant’s arms, as if he could shake it from his chest. This only worsened when the knight released its body and it fell against his stomach, tugging his nipple with its weight.

    “T-take it off!”

    “Oh?” said the knight, “don’t you like it?”

    He flicked the maggot and it wriggled in response, tugging on him more, and Alfred howled.

    “I said take it off me!”

    “Nonsense,” the knight chuckled lightly, reaching into the bucket once more, “I see the way you redden. You’re gasping for this, aren’t you?”

    When he withdrew another maggot Alfred flung himself backwards, trying to beat his way free from the servants, who grunted and groaned at his might but held fast.

    “Don’t do this!”

    Alfred had been a warrior all his life it felt, destined to fight and die for Logarius, his saint. He had been cut by sword and bullet, beaten and bruised, wrapped in scars from battle and brutality. Even what he had endured here had seemed part of it all, a fitting end for a man of the cloth, but this strange and intimate pain challenged what he thought he knew of resistance. it was not so much the way his chest was injured but in how it was not only pain he felt, how those cloying touched had been just enough to bring his brain to attention in a way it should not have. Sex had no place on the battlefield, and the way the Vilebloods used it as a weapon only showed their truly impure and unnatural being. Even a beast who mounted did so without understanding of its actions, only trying to fulfil the unfortunate prerogative it had been given by instinct.

    This was disgusting, beyond the act of man and beast, for the mind that birthed such violations could not have been one of either. No human being would dare to defile him like this, not that he could imagine, or comprehend. The shock made his mind stupid and confused.

    “Don’t!”

    But the knight already pushed the maggot against him, so that its mandibles found and grasped his nipple, pinching and gnawing on it with dull little teeth that drew terrible sensations tight in his belly.

    “There you are,” said the knight, and he sat back on his haunches and watched as Alfred, wide eyed and wild, struggled away from the creatures that followed him every which way. Once they’d clamped down he knew they wouldn’t let go unless killed or otherwise prompted, brainless things. With his black and blue chest heaving, Alfred looked a treat to the right kind of eye, trapped with pain and pleasure that nibbled on his chest and could not be dislodged.

    He nodded to the servants and they reclined Alfred some, and he fell back easily, too preoccupied with his own horror to even attempt to lash out at the knight again, though his legs did kick and stutter along the floor as he thrashed.

    “Sick!” he cried, “you and all your kin, sick and wrong!”

    “Don’t be boorish.”

    Then from the bucket he pulled another grub, fat and old, near pupating. Whatever twisted thing these became, this one was nearing the point in its lifecycle to become it. While that made its body fat, it only writhed more vigorously, starving at all times for food for the long sleep. Alfred’s eyes bulged when he saw it.

    “Where should I put this one, hm?”

    The knight held it close to him teasingly, letting Alfred get a good look at its snapping jaws.

    “Perhaps here?”

    He positioned it right before Alfred’s now mostly erect cock, just close enough for him to feel the air displaced by its bite, and Alfred floundered.

    “B-by the Good Blood-!”

    He wouldn’t beg. He wouldn’t. Executioners never begged, because they were proud and strong and he had his Master’s smiling face to guide him.

    “No, quite right. Many here would be most displeased if I broke an important part of their toy.”

    The knight brought the creature away and Alfred visibly relaxed, as much as he could. His nipples were both already a dark red, every twitch of the maggots attached yanking them harder. The knight gave one a playful flick, drinking in the whining moan Alfred released.

    “Still, I must find a meal for it.”

    His finger found Alfred’s leaking asshole again and hooked inside, pulling him open just so.

    “Perhaps here?

    Alfred baulked.

    “It will eat me from the inside out!”

    “Maybe,” the knight cooed, “shall we find out?”

    “No!”

    He was already nudging the maggot to Alfred’s buttocks though, and while Alfred tried to slam his legs together the knight had placed his knees between them and Alfred had not the strength to fight back. He jumped and juddered as its smooth head bumped his skin, beginning to hyperventilate. It only served to shake the ones on his chest more, and his bruised side clawed at him inside, but panic was mounting and he was lost in its tow. He had not been opened well, even with the fucking, and the knight’s fingers only gave way to a glimpse of his pink innards, but the maggot found it easily, its beast little eyes searching him out, and nudged.

    The knight knew better than to kill Alfred, as delicious as seeing him ripped to shreds from the inside out would be. Perhaps, when the Executioner had outlived his uses, he would suggest the method to the Queen. Now though he was well aware that while flesh was often the creature’s target, they did not oft gather on the living, but the salty remnants of his cum likely called to it. That, and the warm, dark place within which it could burrow and conceal itself, a natural draw likely unbeknownst to his crying victim.

    And so it did, once it had picked up the trail, squirming its way past his fingers to batter Alfred’s hole. He screamed like it had bitten him, though it had not, unable to tell the burn of it pushing inside from the burn of removing flesh from his most delicate of places, too clouded by fear to understand. While small the maggot was strong, this one in particular, and driven to consume, and the knight removed his hand and simply watched, holding Alfred’s legs apart, as its head quested inside.

    “Oh, Kos,” Alfred sobbed, “oh, oh!”

    Thicker than any human’s cock, the maggot worked its way in, the fluid it naturally secreted easing its passage. Alfred’s muscles bore down on it, both from his horror and the natural compulsion they had to expel intrusion, but it did nothing, only minorly contracting around the maggot’s soft body. Alfred could feel every inch of it as it wriggled, every fat fold of juicy flesh, every sensory whisker, every prickle of its nubby feet. The movement was the worst, its strange undulations pressing and releasing against his nerves, tapping and tickling. There was so much of it too, several feet of its translucent abdomen still twitching and pushing between his legs where he could see it. It pushed in particularly hard and his dick visibly throbbed.

    “Take it out!” he wailed, “take it out, take it out!”

    His arms strained against the servant’s hold, desperate to remove the creature before it caused even more pleasure, even more agony. Instead they pulled him back more, stretching him out so he could see his own stomach rise and fall in jerky uneven motions as he sobbed, see the two on his chest pinch and pull at him, see the was his cock bobbed with every push of the thing breaching him.

    “You don’t really mean that,” said the knight, tracing his widened hole with a finger, “not when your hungry clunge is sucking it in so eagerly.”

    His back bowed outwards, unsure of what to do, how to alleviate his anguish. Every twitch inside him made him buck and writhe, unwanted pleasure creeping to his gut like a poison. It was so deep in him now, surely, so deep he knew it would burst out at any minute, shred his delicate tissue and destroy him, but it didn’t and it kept pushing and he kept begging the Great Ones to end it all.

    “You’re going to cum from this, aren’t you?”

    The knight had begun to run the back of his finger up and down the length of Alfred’s cock, as though examining a trinket of mild interest.

    “No,” Alfred gasped, twisting his head from side to side, “I won’t, I don’t want to!”

    “Look at you,” the knight continued, grasping him more firmly now, “stuffed to the brim with filthy insects, panting like a slattern.” As he stroked he let his other hand massage Alfred’s ass again, testing the tension it was held by. Alfred shook.

    “N-no!”

    He felt it though, the way the pleasure, after so long with only pain, coiled within him, a snake prepared to strike. He didn’t want it. he didn’t want to see the maggot’s slimy body still flexing between his legs, still pushing inside, didn’t want to feel its bulbous head digging about his aching nerve endings. He didn’t want the two still tugging at his nipples, making them hurt so badly, making his chest feel so sore and swollen and full of horrible pleasure. He didn’t want the hand around his cock to keep pulling him off so smoothly, as if this were normal, as if it did not operate within inches from the wretched creature buried in his ass.

    He wouldn’t beg. Executioners did not beg.

    “Come on then,” said the knight, “show me what you really are.”

    He wouldn’t beg.

    Alfred came. His body twisted, clamped down on the maggot in his ass, his fingers and toes flexing. Warm cum arced up his chest, his balls drawing tight, and he did not even cry, didn’t scream, merely shaped himself into a grotesque imitation of ecstasy and let his mouth fall wide in silent pleasure. Everything throbbed.

    “What a show!” he crowed, “what a display!”

    Alfred lay there panting and wishing he were dead, his limbs still twitching with phantom shocks of pleasure. The maggot squirmed.

    “You really are a wretch.”

    The servants were now free of their duty to hold him up and worked careful at the maggot’s jaws upon his chest, urging them to detach. When they did it was almost worse than the initial pinch as blood flowed back into places it had been denied and the feeling there returned, bolstered, his nipples aching.

    “Out,” Alfred breathed wearily, “take it…”

    He tried to close his thighs and it only squeezed the muscle inside tighter, making the maggot twist in discomfort.

    “I think you can deal with that yourself, can’t you?”

    They simply dropped the ones from his chest where they were and left him. Without the support of the hands on his back Alfred fell flat.

    “I…”

    He groped down between his legs for it, but his posture made it hard, and it was still moving. With two hands he grasped the thing, slipping. The knight gave him a little smirk that he could not see.

    “Au revoir.”

    But he did not see, as he turned to the cell, the servants already hobbling with the bucket ahead, the way Alfred rose, dropping the maggot. He did not see Alfred find his feet, shaking like a leaf, and he did not see Alfred lurch forwards, arms outstretched. Filthy, stinking Alfred, ruined Alfred, reached his hands around the knight’s neck and pulled the chain that bound them tight against his throat.

    “Monster,” he spat, blood mingling with his own spit, “creature! Scum! Vileblood!”

    With adrenaline in his veins he was bigger and stronger and the knight reacted too slowly, too off guard, and Alfred yanked him back, hard. His eyes popped wide, struggling to see behind him, his face grew red. The servants dropped the bucket and began to run back towards them. He didn’t have time. Alfred grabbed the sides of his head and twisted till it snapped. The servants stopped.

    Alfred dropped the body.

    Panting, heaving really, covered in sweat, in blood, he himself was near a beast. He looked at the servants.

    “Come, then.”

    They turned around and ran. The moment they were out of sight Alfred slumped to the wall. They would come back, with everyone, and he had killed one of their own. He had nothing, and now the moment was passing and he was empty inside and growing only more so. The maggots twitched on the floor of the cell, smelling death. He could not hear, but he knew the knights above would be coming. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists and waited.   



End file.
